


ambulance

by stoprobbers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: As in immediately after, F/M, Jancy, Romance, Season/Series 02, the cabin and what happened after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoprobbers/pseuds/stoprobbers
Summary: -I will be your accident if you will be my ambulance and I will be your screeching crash if you will be my crutch and cast and I will be your one more time if you will be my one last chanceNancy in the cabin, and what happened after. 2x09 missing scenes.





	ambulance

The cabin is oppressive. Air thick, and hot, so hot, even after the logs were scattered and the space heaters were unplugged. It's silent save for the sobbing coming from the bed in the corner, a traumatized boy and his terrified mother and his guilty older brother.

And her, stunned and scared and lost, and she can't seem to catch her breath.

They're supposed to be doing something, there's a task still at hand, but she can't stop looking at the fireplace. She's transfixed by the red-orange cinders, the same color as the tip of a poker she pushed into young flesh just to get the thing inside a boy to stop strangling his mother. She wonders if he'll ever forgive her, how he'll handle the scar.

There's something they're supposed to do.

There's a layer of salt between her skin and her soaked shirt, and a strand of hair in the corner of her eye and she can't seem to catch her breath.

There's something they're supposed to do.

Without warning a blur of a person passes her, lunging for the walkie talkie sitting on a forgotten table, a blur of white shirt and blue jeans and dirty blonde hair. The air in the cabin is thick and there's not enough of it and her neck is starting to strain, her throat starting to burn.

There's something—

"Close it!"

He doesn't sound like himself. He's hoarse, angry, frightened. The cabin is so hot and she thinks someone might be calling her name. She stares at the cinders and wishes she could look away.

"Nance—Nancy. Nancy? Nancy, are you okay?"

His hand on her shoulder snaps her out of her paralysis, and she whips around to face Jonathan, his eyes red from crying and so dark. She searches for the words, how to tell him what she's feeling, for the air to make sound, but she can't find any of it. All she can do is open and close her mouth and hope he can see her panic. 

He must, because he guides her out of the cabin's broken front door and onto the porch. The November air is shockingly cold and she gasps as it hits her. It's the first full breath she's drawn in what feels like hours. It floods her, brings her crashing back down into her body, and suddenly she's on her knees, retching off the side off the porch.

The world turns sideways and goes dark for a moment, then swims back into focus. There's a ringing in her ears and icicles forming on her skin. She digs her nails into the wooden floor and tries not to fall over. Then suddenly there's a hand making slow circles in the middle of her back and a glass of water in front of her face.

"Drink this."

He sounds like himself again, soft and thoughtful and protective.

With shaking hands she carefully takes the water and sinks back to sit as she sips it, rinses her mouth out a few times. The world around her becomes brighter, comes back into focus. He comes back into focus.

He's sitting across from her, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, goosebumps forming down the column of his neck, still pink from the heat. He looks exhausted. He looks beautiful. He looks-

Thirsty.

She holds the glass out to him and he takes it, drains it. Sets it aside, takes her hands and pulls lightly. Without hesitating she crawls forward, into his lap and his arms, and they hold each other close. He's rocking her a little bit, she wonders if he even realizes he's doing it. Thinks about another year and another part of the woods and another time she clung to him in his lap, slick with the residue of the Upside Down. _I've got you. I've got you_.

He puts a sliver of distance between them and catches her gaze. He looks like he's remembering, too.

"Thanks," she whispers.

It's the first word she's spoken since that _thing_ left her little brother's best friend ( _your boyfriend's little brother_ her inner voice whispers) and she doesn't think it's enough to encompass what she feels. So she leans forward and presses her lips to his. 

In Murray's basement, his mouth was all heat and tongue and teeth, nipping, tugging, coaxing. She'd been overwhelmed by it, swept away by the strength she'd only guessed hid under his skin. That had been catharsis; this is something else. Benediction, maybe.

Words dance on the tip of her tongue, words too strong and serious to say yet, words she's learned to hold back, has learned the consequences of saying too early, too freely, and though she thinks she might mean them she bites them back and sweeps her tongue along his bottom lip instead. Her mouth must taste awful but she doesn't care; she wants.

He cups her face with his hand and carefully pulls back. He is smiling.

"Nancy."

They turn. This voice is soft, high, exhausted, free. Will stands in the cold air, pale and damp and trembling in his hospital gown. He takes a step forward and kneels next to them, wrapping his arms over both their backs in a broad hug.

"Thank you," he says into her shoulder and it's her turn to cry.

+

She doesn't know how they'll know it worked. Hopper will tell them, maybe, over the walkie. If he lives. If any of them live. She thinks of a small girl with a nosebleed and smudged eyeliner and how she's going to save all of them. Again.

She thinks of her brother and how if she doesn't come back this time she's not sure he will either.

The Byers family is huddled on the bed, Will protected by Jonathan and Joyce. Nancy sits by Jonathan's right hand. If she wanted to reach out and touch him she could but he's stroking his brother's hair. They all stare at the walkie talkie, willing it to talk. Willing it to make noise. Willing it to tell them this is finally, finally over.

The lights seem a little brighter. No, a lot brighter. Like the world has a dimmer switch and someone is turning it all the way up. She sits a little straighter, looks around. It's everything, all of the lights, even the clock on the microwave and the coils on the electric stove.

She feels a hand on her wrist and she laces her fingers through Jonathan's, holding tight. Fear squeezes at her for a moment before she remembers. Realizes.

Eleven.

The light is burning, blinding, as thick and as opaque as the black smoke that poured into an innocent child and tried to take over their town. But where that smoke was cold and dark and reeked of death and decay, the light burns with life and growth and rebirth. Electricity prickles along her skin, cleansing.

It's loud, a high-pitched hum, and so bright she can't see her own hand in front of her face anymore and she gasps as Jonathan suddenly tugs her to him. He takes her face in his hands, as much to guide her as to feel her, and his kiss is hard and desperate, full of fear and hope and something else. She thinks he's biting back the same words she was when he coaxes her mouth open and gives his tongue something else to do.

You can hide in the shadows, or you can hide in the light. Nancy knows what she prefers.

And then suddenly she can see again.

The air in the cabin isn't thick anymore; it's cool with a breeze from broken windows and broken doors. Will is starting to shiver, and Joyce looks like she's going to collapse, and Jonathan is still holding her face, and she can't seem to stop trembling.

Jonathan moves first. Presses a kiss to her forehead and turns to his family.

"Let's go home."

+

She lays in his bed, face to face, knee to knee. How they eked out this bit of privacy in a home filled with so many others she doesn't know. The house is quiet, but she's pretty sure no one's sleeping. There's a tape playing in the background, so low she can barely make out the music, but Jonathan had recoiled from the silent dark and searched around until he found what he wanted.

She can't blame him.

His breath tickles the tip of her nose, but she doesn't want to move. Not now, maybe not ever again.

She's been as driven and motivated and focused as she could be for her entire life, but she considers giving all that up to say in this bed until the end of time.

"What?" he asks and touches the crinkle between her eyebrows.

"Nothing," she replies. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"This."

"Us?"

"Or this. Laying here, like this. Maybe forever."

He chuckles, puffing breath across her cheek, and tugs on her shoulder. She moves closer, knees now stacked atop each other, face in the crook of his neck. He tangles a hand in her hair.

"You'd get bored."

"I wouldn't."

"Your grades would slip."

"I'll drop out."

"You'd never," he scoffs. She thinks about that.

"I wouldn't," she admits. "But I'd want to. I- You—I'd be safe."

The way his neck tenses, she thinks he's looking down at her.

"Safe?"

"With you." She presses her face into his neck, feels how soft his skin is there. "You know, my monster hunting partner."

There are truths buried deep in his skin now, secrets she can't tell him yet but thinks he might be able to guess. His throat works for a moment, holding back his own secrets.

"I've got you," he finally says. She smiles.

"You do."

**Author's Note:**

> title and inspiration from the TV on the Radio song "Ambulance." Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFY4zSVrjDo


End file.
